The year is closing down; days die on their feet,
nights are cold and distant with scathing winds
that knife our warmth of certainties, our small
scythecandlepowers of love. In this deep hour
our dreams seem charred beyond repair,
hearth-flames offer nothing more than failing light
inside a tightening circle as darkness
takes the world within her hand, and squeezes.

So Ceridwen lifts her scythe of ice to cut beyond
blind bones, dissect the fluttering, frightened soul.
Now, she whispers, now, in this freezing zone
of emptiness, stand naked and alone,
peeled back to your Shadow. Understand
that you too are a part of darkness and you can see
into its heart if you look with inner vision. Now
begin the work of deep compassion, reconciliation,
the wisdom that will turn the world towards
its next, intended cycle: as dark and light are held
within the same instant of a crow wing, silver-sheened.

©Rose Flint